The Insidious Institute
by GreatKateZonkeyMachine
Summary: Are You a Gifted Child Looking for Special Opportunities? Whatever Mr. Benedict has in store, it's got to be better than living in fear of Count Olaf and his dastardly theater troupe - hasn't it?
1. Introduction: A Word from Lemony Snicket

A/N: **This story is going to be LOADS of fun to write, I just know it! And, based on the rough outline I have in my head, it's going to need a sequel. ;) The first chapter won't be ready to publish for a while, so I thought I'd treat you guys to this foreword as a bit of a teaser. I know I should be working on my answer to Kahlan's challenge, but it's evading me—and cooperative stories are so much more fun to write than stubborn ones. Don't you agree?**

**I did my best to type this foreword in a Snicketsy way; let me know how you think I did!**

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><p>Disclaimer: <strong>Just like poor Beatrice, the ownership of both ASOUE and MBS is not mine.<strong>

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><p>Perhaps one of the most contradictory words in the English language is "bittersweet."<p>

"Bittersweet" is a word one might use to refer to a memory or event that brings both joy and sorrow to one's heart. For instance, "bittersweet" could be used to describe a bite of the finest, richest chocolate, if that particular chocolate had had a rat tail accidentally cooked inside it, or by a lonely author to recall being a in love with a woman who married another man with the same first two letters of her name and had three children with him before perishing in a mysterious fire.

There are many bittersweet things in this world. Parting with dear friends for a long time, or spending what you know to be your last few moments with them, often feels bittersweet. Horseradish apples are also bittersweet. "Bittersweet" can certainly be used to refer to terrible travesties, but it can also be used to refer to virtually harmless—if unpleasant to the tongue—fruits.

"Control," on the other hand, is a different word altogether. It nearly always is used to refer to the manipulation of unwilling or oblivious persons, which is a very unpleasant matter indeed. Many people are sometimes called "control-_freaks._" A person who might be called a control-freak likely enjoys having things exactly the way he or she wants them, even if he or she has to hurt others in the process. A toadlike woman who floods a boarding school with ridiculous rules, for example, would be a control-freak, as would a narcoleptic principal who considers "special privileges" to be strapping his pupils into a helmet and a metal chair.

It is my bittersweet duty to document the bittersweet tale of three orphaned siblings. If you are familiar with me and my work, you know that these three orphans are the Baudelaires. Also, if you are familiar with me and my work, you are probably either hunting me down or weeping in horror at the terrible tomes that preceded this story. So, if I were you, I would press the back arrow and go find a nice little story about love and newborn babies to read instead of this one—for the numerous chapters that await are filled with naught but tragedy and bittersweet events. Surely you would rather read about love and newborn babies than you would about dark mazes, treacherous men in suits, secret passageways, and rare plants?

If you are still reading, it means you are either very close to discovering my whereabouts and capturing me, or you have elected to brave this woeful fic. If the latter, I strongly recommend you shut your computer down and go out to dinner instead. However, if you _still_ want to learn about the Baudelaires' most bittersweet misadventure yet, and about their struggle against a greater control-freak even than Count Olaf himself, I cannot stop you. So read on, and if you have not already been dissuaded, you no doubt will be when you see the misery beyond this page.


	2. Testing Begins

A/N: **Even though the foreword was written from the perspective of Lemony Snicket, the rest of this story is going to be written in 1****st**** person, alternating POVs between Reynie, Constance, Sticky, Sunny, Kate, Klaus, and Violet. Parts of the story will be similar to the original book—perhaps to the point of slight boredom—but I assure you the plot is going to deviate drastically in later chapters.**

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><p>Disclaimer: <strong>Just like poor Beatrice, the ownership of both ASOUE and MBS is not mine.<strong>

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><p>~::~::~<p>

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><p><span>Klaus<span>

"I just don't know what to do with you, children," said Mr. Poe, pausing to cough into his handkerchief. He _always_ had a cough. "You've already ruined five perfectly good homes—how can I be expected to find anyone who'll take you?"

I felt a twinge of annoyance. How could _we_ be expected to let Mr. Poe ruin our futures over and over and over again?

There were three telephones on the desk in his office. If any of them rang, it meant someone was calling about guardianship of me and my sisters. Needless to say, the phones were gathering dust. Mr. Poe belonged to Mulctuary Money Management, a bank at which he served as Head of Orphan Affairs—and he was doing an abysmal job. So far he'd placed us in the care of five different guardians, all of whom were either fooled by or in cahoots with a man named Count Olaf. Count Olaf was almost wholly responsible for our misery; from the moment our parents died, he'd been trying to steal the fortune that they left to us.

Right now, things seemed pretty grim. I didn't know about my sister, Violet, but I for one had completely lost faith in adults by this point. None of the adults who'd been put in charge of us had listened to us at all when we tried to reveal Count Olaf in any of his disguises, which had—in several cases—led to their deaths. With no one in the world for me but Violet and our baby sister Sunny, one of the precious few joys left was reading.

"May I borrow your newspaper, Mr. Poe?" I asked blandly.

"What?" he said distractedly. "Oh, no, nonsense, Klaus! You wouldn't like reading the paper—no child likes reading the paper. Wouldn't you prefer a nice children's book? There's a lovely story in the children's area downstairs called _The Littlest Elf_—"

"Mr. Poe," I said, smiling, "I really would prefer the paper, if you don't mind."

At that moment, the office door opened. "Edgar," said the lady at the door, "you're needed in room 2-C." Then she left without bothering to make sure he'd heard.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" said Mr. Poe, coughing into his handkerchief. "Very well, Klaus, take this,"—he handed me his newspaper—"I'm afraid I've got to dash." He paused at the door. "You children just wait here for me. If a phone rings, answer it."

I began to flip through the pages of the news.

"How bad is it?" asked Violet.

"I haven't seen anything about 'Count Omar' so far," I reported.

"Well, that's something, at least."

Recently, an article had been published in the newspaper about our latest encounter with Count Olaf, and the writer had made several glaring mistakes—such as thinking that Count _Olaf_ was Count _Omar._

"Boocheff!" Sunny shrieked. Being an infant, she often spoke in unintelligible gibberish like that—but Violet and I were pretty good at translating. "Boocheff" meant "Maybe they fired that dreadful reporter and they've got a new one now!"

"Let's hope so," Violet agreed.

"Wait a minute," I said, my eyes locking onto a small corner of the paper. "There is something."

Violet groaned. "What've they said this time?"

"It's nothing about us—look."

I showed her the thing that had caught my attention. It was an advertisement, a small square of contact information, nothing special except for the strange heading: ARE YOU A GIFTED CHILD LOOKING FOR SPECIAL OPPORTUNITIES?

This was strange because it seemed to be addressed to children themselves, not parents—as though it were directed at someone like me.

"What about it?" Violet asked.

"Well," I said, "I mean... we're sort of _gifted_, aren't we?"

"No," said Violet immediately. "We have too much to worry about without applying for...a field trip to Borneo or something."

"But maybe it's more than a trip!" I protested. "Surely it couldn't hurt to _try_."

"Do you really think it's anything we could do?" said Violet. "I mean, what _are_ these 'special opportunities?'"

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "But... Do you think it might involve a potential guardian for us?"

Violet smiled sadly. "Klaus, it just says special—"

"I know what it says," I told her. "I'm just wondering if it mightn't be worth looking into."

"Tafgui!" said Sunny, which meant something along the lines of "I think we ought to go for it."

"But would Mr. Poe go for it?" Violet persisted.

As if in answer, the door burst open and Mr. Poe came bustling back inside his office, coughing as he shut the door behind him. "Children," he said, "I'm afraid you may have to spend another night or so with me and my family."

"Mr. Poe," said Violet instantly, "what do you think of this?"

She showed him the ad, which he squinted at and looked away to cough.

"We think whoever put this ad in the paper might be a possible candidate for our next guardian," she explained.

"Hm... Yes, yes, I see..." Mr. Poe mused. "Well, you might enjoy it."

"Really?" said Violet, surprised.

"But there's far too much to do," he finished. "You children—and I—have enough to worry about right now. Special opportunities are for children with parents and homes."

"But maybe," I offered, "maybe if we do qualify for the special opportunities, we might get into a boarding school or something, and then we can stay there until you find us a proper guardian."

Mr. Poe seemed impressed. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Klaus," he said, sounding surprised himself. He looked at the ad again. "There's a number to call for information," he observed.

A fit of coughing caused him to put down the newspaper and blow into his handkerchief. I glanced sidelong at Violet in annoyance. "Goor," Sunny muttered.

When he was finished, he swept the dust off of one of the telephones with his hand and dialed the number on the advertisement. As he waited for the people on the other line to pick up, I couldn't help but see a ray of hope; there might be something good in our futures after all!

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><p><span>Violet<span>

When we stepped out from the back of Mr. Poe's rickety car, I saw a long line of children and their parents waiting outside the office building. It immediately made me feel a bit nervous: All of these children had an adult standing next to them.

Even so, I was very glad to exit the stuffy old car. The woman on the telephone had given Mr. Poe a surprisingly distant address—we'd driven all the way to Stonetown. According to the woman, we were to take some kind of test once inside the building, and our scores on that test would determine whether or not we qualified for special opportunities.

After a few minutes of standing in line, all of us children were let in at the same time. I handed off Sunny to Mr. Poe and followed Klaus into a stark place that had been set up like a classroom, with short rows of too-small chairs and desks. The test booklets were passed out by a tall, thin woman with high cheekbones and a stiff yellow dress. She reminded me of something, but I couldn't think what. We weren't told how much time we had, which made me a little anxious.

There were four sections of the test. One of them was just like I had expected: measuring the angles of an irregular hexagon, finding the value of _x_, et cetera. The last question of the first section involved calculating how much time would pass before a collision of two speeding trains. That particular question irked me—what kind of engineers let their trains collide on the tracks?

Then I came to the second section, and the first question caught me completely off guard: _Do you like to watch television?_

I thought. It seemed incredible now, as I'd never really thought about it before, but I didn't think I had _ever_ watched television. Our parents had not had any televisions, Count Olaf certainly hadn't, and none of our late guardians had had a television either.

I wanted to explain all of this, but the question was very straightforward—it wasn't asking me for a backstory, just a yes or a no.

So I wrote, _I don't know._

The next question was equally peculiar: _Do you like to listen to the radio?_

I _had_ done that. Mr. Poe _always_ had the radio on in his car. It had always given me a headache...

_No,_ I wrote.

I moved on to the next question of the test, forcing myself to concentrate on it. It read, _What is wrong with this statement?_

I looked at it for a moment, and then wrote down my answer: _There is no statement._

The next question took up a whole page, as it concerned a picture. The picture showed a chessboard, with one piece out of place—the black pawn. _According to the rules of chess,_ it said, _is this position possible?_

For my part, I had never played a game of chess in my life; Klaus was always the chess player. Still, I might as well guess, seeing as I had a fifty percent chance of being correct unless it was some sort of trick question.

I looked at the image again. The pawn was two squares ahead of all the other pawns. The white pieces were all on their starting squares, so obviously only one move had been made. I seemed to remember my father saying that pawns could only move one square at a time...

_No._

I moved on.

_What is the name of this symbol: —?_

_Dash._

_What is the name of this symbol: -?_

_Hyphen._

_What do these things have in common: GREEN GLASS DOOR?_

_Double letters._

_Are you brave?_

This was the very last question of the test, and it had me stumped. Was I brave? Of _course_ I was brave. How could anyone who wasn't brave thwart Count Olaf as often as I and my siblings had? I _had_ to be brave—didn't I...?

At last I wrote, _I think so._

Having completed the test, I busied myself with looking around the room. Klaus had finished his test too; our eyes met, and he gave me a thumbs-up. I looked at the other children, and one in particular caught my eye. Sitting two desks behind Klaus was a blond girl with an extremely strange accessory: a metal bucket, the handle looped around her belt.

The test administrator was sitting at the front of the room eating from a can of almonds. "Pencils!" she suddenly called out, and then I knew what she reminded me of—she looked exactly like a giant walking, talking pencil. "Please lay down your pencils now, children. The test is over."

All of us obediently laid down our pencils on our desks.

"Please pass your papers to the front of the room," said the pencil woman, "and remain seated while the tests are graded. Don't worry, it won't take long."

Once she had collected the tests, the pencil woman left the room. Klaus turned to face me in his seat.

"How do you think you did?" he said.

I shrugged. "I think I answered at least _some_ of them correctly."

"What about the 'are you brave' question?" said Klaus, lowering his voice. "What'd you put for that one?"

"I said 'I think so.'"

He nodded. "That's what I said too."

At that moment, the pencil woman returned. "I shall now read the names of children admitted into the second phase of the test," she said in a businesslike tone.

All around, children began to murmur; Klaus and I looked at one another. _Second_ phase?

"If your name is called," continued the woman, "you are to report to the Monk Building on Third Street no later than one o'clock, where you will join children from other sessions who also passed the test." She bent over her desks and fixed us with a steely glare; I could tell she was about to say something serious.

"You will bring _nothing,_" she declared, "but a single number two pencil and a single rubber eraser. If you in any way deviate from these instructions—for instance, if you arrive five minutes late or forget your eraser or bring an extra pencil—you will be disqualified and asked to leave the testing site. Do you understand?"

There was a general nodding of heads.

"Very well. If there are no questions, I shall read the list." The pencil woman cleared her throat. "Klaus Baudelaire!" she announced.

Klaus sat up straighter, but I wasn't at all surprised; Klaus obviously qualified.

"Violet Baudelaire!" she called, and my heart leapt. "Kate Wetherall!"

The girl with the bucket punched the air triumphantly.

"That is all," said the pencil woman matter-of-factly, folding the paper and putting it in her mustard-colored pocket.

Outside, Mr. Poe gave Sunny back to me and said, "So how did it go?" between coughs. "Did you get these special opportunities?"

I glanced at Klaus. "We don't know. Apparently there's a second phase of the test."

"A _second phase?_" said Mr. Poe. "When?"

"One o'clock this afternoon," I said. "And it's at the Monk Building on Third Street."

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no. I'm sorry, Violet, but I simply can't be troubled to drive you all around this city for these tests of yours."

"Please, Mr. Poe!" cried Klaus. "We—"

"I'm sorry," said Mr. Poe, "but it simply isn't possible. I have to get back to the office in one hour, and I won't be able to drive you to the Monk Building and take another three-hour break."

"We can go on our own," I suggested. "We could get to the Monk Building by ourselves."

"Absolutely not!" the coughing banker shouted. "You children are the only people who understand Sunny—"

"We'll take her with us," said Klaus at once. "I'm sure we can find some way to keep her out of trouble."

"Children," said Mr. Poe, "I'm Head of Orphan Affairs. That means I'm responsible for you—and no respectable Head of Orphan Affairs would ever let three orphans roam the streets of an unfamiliar city _alone._"

"We'll manage," I insisted. "It's only for a few hours, and we'll be inside the Monk Building for part of that time."

"What if they don't have a telephone?" Mr. Poe asked. "What then? How will I know to come pick you up—and what if I'm too _busy_ to pick you up?"

"We'll call a taxi," said Klaus at once.

"But you haven't any—"

"_You_ can pay the fare when we arrive," I said.

Mr. Poe frowned. "The Mulctuary Money Management building is at least an hour's drive from here," he said. "How expensive would a cab fare be?"

"How expensive would it be to take care of us for six more months while we're waiting for a new guardian to appear?" said Klaus.

"Children," said Mr. Poe matter-of-factly, "go to the Monk Building on Third Street and take the second test. When you are finished, call a taxicab and direct the driver to Mulctuary Money Management. I will pay the fare."

I heard the unspoken cheers inside each of my siblings. If we passed this test...it might be the beginning of a new life.

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><p>AN: **I think it ended too abruptly. Just sayin'.**


	3. Rhonda Kazembe

Author's Note: **This chapter was actually rather challenging to write. It was hard to come up with a solution to Rhonda's pencil puzzle that hadn't already been taken by an Original Society Member.**

**Review!**

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><p>Disclaimer: <strong>Just like poor Beatrice, the ownership of both ASOUE and MBS is not mine.<strong>

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><p>~::~::~<p>

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><p><span>Violet<span>

"I think this is it," said Klaus.

"I think you're right," I agreed.

It had been a chore to find, but we were finally at the Monk Building. The pencil woman, of course, had not given us any kind of directions, so we'd had to make do ourselves. As it was, Klaus and I had found it necessary to convince an Operator over Mr. Poe's cell phone he had lent us to give us directions. Now we were standing at the foot of the stone steps leading up to the broad front plaza at the doors of the Monk Building.

It was so close to one o'clock, nearly all of the other children had now gone inside. Only one girl was still climbing the steps—and she was hard not to notice.

The girl was wearing the poofiest white dress I had ever seen, in stark contrast with her dark skin, and a knee-length green wig. She was also tossing her one and only pencil up and down, up and down, up and down in her hand as she walked across the plaza. And just as she passed over a metal grate, she missed; the pencil slipped right through the bars and fell into the darkness.

The unfortunate girl stared at the grate, dumbstruck. She looked ready to cry. Klaus and I walked up with Sunny. "You dropped your pencil?" I said.

She nodded glumly. "I guess I can't take the test now."

"Hm... Yes, you can," Klaus said. "My sister and I will help."

She looked up hopefully. "Would you really?"

"Of course," I said. "It's a storm drain, not a bottomless pit." I took a purple ribbon out of my pocket, and used it to tie up my hair. This might call for some inventing.

I turned to Klaus. "What do you have in your pockets?"

He felt. "A rubber band and Mr. Poe's cell phone."

I smiled. "Perfect—give them both to me."

He looked puzzled, but he handed them over. I walked over to a nearby tree and found a branch that was about the right length for what I was planning to do. I reached up and tried to break it off, but the base was too thick. "I can't—break—it," I grunted in frustration.

"Satiko!" cried Sunny: "Leave it to me."

So I put her on a branch slightly below the one I wanted, where she bit into its base with her four sharp teeth. I walked back over to the green-haired girl, who was watching us looking nonplussed. "I don't suppose you would happen to be chewing gum, would you?"

She shook her head.

I sighed. "Well, I know it's unpleasant, but there's only one thing to do if you want your pencil back. I'm sure they'll have a bathroom inside where you can wash your hands."

I pointed at the sidewalk, where a recently discarded piece of gum lay waiting for a shoe—or perhaps a branch—to stick to.

"Done!" cried Sunny behind me. I looked back to see the branch sufficiently gnawed to be snapped off. So I walked back over to it, broke off the tree limb, scooped up Sunny, and walked back to the girl, who was holding out a piece of gum, trying to touch it as little as possible and grimacing in disgust. Seconds later, I was holding a homemade flashlight and grabber.

"That was amazing!" exclaimed the girl in the green wig.

Klaus and I smiled humbly. "Now come on," I said, "let's get that pencil before it's too late."

Holding the thinner, flimsier end of the branch, I lowered the illuminated end through the grate. Klaus and Sunny peered down into the storm drain on either side of me.

"Is it bright enough?" asked the girl anxiously.

"I think so," I replied. "There's the bottom…."

I moved the light carefully over the floor of the drain, looking for the short yellowish stick. Small creatures scuttled away from the light, and the ground was slick and shiny. Sunny wrinkled her nose.

"There!" Klaus suddenly shouted. I froze. There was a small pink dot in the corner of my light, with a dull metal tube extending from it.

"Yes!" I breathed. The wigged girl sighed with relief. Skillfully I pressed the sticky gum to the pencil and pulled it up through the slot in the grate. The girl gave a cry of joy and plucked it off the stick.

"Thank you _so_ much," she said vigorously. "My name's Rhonda Kazembe, by the way." She held out her hand.

Klaus and I shook it in turn, and she leaned down to shake Sunny's little hand. "My name's Violet Baudelaire," I said, "and this is my brother, Klaus, and my sister, Sunny."

"Violet, Klaus, and Sunny—I don't know how I can ever thank you…" Suddenly her face changed; a sly grin spread over it. "Actually, I do."

She leaned forward conspiratorially and looked both ways. I exchanged a curious glance with Klaus. "If it weren't for you guys, I could never have taken this test, and do you want to know something?" She paused dramatically.

"_Yes!_" I said exasperatedly.

"I…have…the answers!"

Klaus blinked. I was incredulous. "Are you serious?"

She nodded excitedly. "I'm going to make a perfect score!"

Klaus ran his fingers through his hair. "How on earth did you get those—?"

"No time to explain. But if one of you sits behind me and the other sits to my left, you can look at my test as I'm taking it and copy off me."

This was a lot to think about. Did I really want to _cheat_? I thought about everything my siblings and I had been through recently. Surely we had earned these special opportunities, regardless of our test scores. It would make me feel a lot better to know that we had secured them without a doubt. Mr. Poe would have done it.

But then a small voice said _Yes, he would have. And you know who else would have?_

Count Olaf.

Lying and cheating was his trade. Olaf had once told us that all people were wicked, deep down inside. No one could resist temptation. It was only a matter of time before we stooped at least as low as him. Doing this, I was about to prove him right.

I realized that I was wrong; it wouldn't make me feel better at all to cheat on this test. I looked at Klaus and Sunny, and I knew they were thinking the same thing. "No."

The girl looked taken aback. "What?"

"No," said Klaus.

"No," said Sunny.

"You don't want my help?"

"We never said we don't want it," I said. I wanted it very much, and I could see my own sadness in the eyes of my siblings. "We…just couldn't live with ourselves."

"Do you know how hard this test is?"

"Thank you, Rhonda, but we'll take our chances."

She looked at us as though we were a bit strange, but shrugged. "Suit yourselves." She began to walk up the steps with the pencil we had recovered for her. "I hope you know what you're in for!"

We stood there silently for a moment after her cloud-dress swept behind the double doors.

"I suppose we should go in," said Klaus finally.

"Yes," I agreed.

When we went inside, a bored-looking receptionist pointed down a hallway, where we followed a series of conspicuously posted signs with arrows on them to a room full of nervous-looking parents evidently waiting for their children to finish testing. Klaus set Sunny down on the floor of this room.

"Stay here until we come back for you, okay?" he said to her. She nodded. He left her with a small fragment of the branch we'd used to get Rhonda's pencil back, which I had broken off for her to chew on while she waited.

The door to the testing room was just beyond the families' waiting room. It was very quiet inside.

"Well, good luck," Klaus said to me.

I nodded and tried to find my voice. "You too," I said breathlessly.

We both stepped inside the testing room.

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><p><span>Sunny<span>

It took me all of five minutes to render the twig unbiteable. And I'm not one to get impatient, but that test was _long_.

The room was filled with twittering parents, and rather stuffy. The woman who gave the tests told them that their children would be returning to them in just over an hour, and to please remain here until that time is up. There were two other babies in the room with me: an extra-small little black girl asleep in her rocker, and a pudgy, red-haired boy with more teeth than me. The boy was playing with an action figure at his mother's feet.

Out of boredom, I crawled over to him and asked if I could play with him. He allowed me to—but his idea of playing with me was showing me all the things he could do with his action figure. I sat there growing steadily more irritated, until finally he demonstrated the way he could gum the little man's head and at long last handed the toy to me to do the same.

Now, his gumming was all well and good, but I thought I could beat it. I put my mouth on the little doll's neck and looked at him. He nodded and smiled at me.

So I bit off the action figure's head.

The superhero's head fell to the floor and rolled away from us. Proudly, I handed the body back to my new friend. He looked at his toy, and then at me. I gave him a friendly smile, showing my four sharp teeth.

His lower lip began to quiver. His eyes become shiny. He sniffed. Then he scrunched up his face, opened his mouth wide, and began to wail at the top of his lungs.

What? Why was he crying? How rude! His mother picked him up, cooing, and I sat there in a thoroughly bad mood. I'd thought my bite was pretty darn good. The other parents were giving the mother of the disruptive child dirty looks. The whining brat waved his doll in his mother's face; she took it and looked at it aghast. He pointed at me.

The mother turned to the man next to her with an expression of disapproval. "I beg your pardon," she said to him, "but I'd like you to know that your daughter has _destroyed_ my son's plaything. You really should exercise more control over her."

He raised his eyebrows. "I beg _your_ pardon, but my daughter is taking the test right now. She can't have done anything to your son."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean your _baby_." She pointed at me.

"Baby? I haven't got a baby! That girl's not mine."

The mother stood up. "Excuse me," she called to the room at large, "but who does this child belong to?" She tried to pick me up, but I squirmed and struggled too much, so she simply pointed at me again; I had to exercise my willpower not to bite her finger.

A faint murmur rippled through the room. Everyone looked at the person next to them; no one knew this heretical baby. And that meant she was alone, and that simply wouldn't do.

Uh-oh.

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><p><span>Klaus<span>

_After the fall of the Russian Empire, when a failed attempt to create a Transcaucasian Republic with Georgia and Armenia led to the creation of the country Azerbaijan (which currently disputes with Armenia the territories of the Naxcivan Autonomous Republic and the Nagorno-Karabakh region), from what key powers did Azerbaijan become divided by the Treaty of Turkmenchay, which also incorporated Armenia into the country of Russia?_

I thought for a moment (my train of thought was slowed by a nagging feeling of déjà vu at this question), and then answered _C: Russia, the nation into which Armenia (which was founded after the destruction of the Seleucid Empire) was incorporated by the same treaty, and Persia._

My sense of déjà vu lasted, strangely, right through the end of the test. I counted myself lucky that I liked to read so much, else I probably wouldn't have known a single answer on the test. On the other hand, I was worried about Violet. She was nervously drumming the table with her pencil and biting her lip, her eyes flitting with a rather hopeless look all over her test.

"You there!" the administrator suddenly barked at me. "No looking at the other test-takers. Do you want to be disqualified for cheating?"

I shook my head and looked back at my bare desk; I had already turned in my completed test. It had been difficult, but I was confident. Of course, Rhonda the green-haired girl had finished fifteen minutes in. Evidently she, too, had noticed that Violet was struggling, because I saw her slip the test answers onto Violet's desk when she sat back down. I was pleased to see Violet immediately flick the little piece of paper away.

"Pencils!"

Everyone jumped. I looked at the clock; the hour was indeed up.

"Time's up, children," said the administrator. "Lay down your pencils, please."

Everyone but Rhonda and me—including Violet, who gave me a sad smile—stacked their test papers on the woman's desk. The woman flipped through them rather quickly and then stood up.

"I shall read now the names of those who passed the test," she announced. "If your name is called you will advance to the third stage of testing, so please remain seated and await further instructions. Those whose names are not called are free to go."

Ripples of muttering swept through the classroom. A _third stage_?

The administrator cleared her throat. "Klaus Baudelaire!" I was probably imagining it, but at that moment she seemed to look Violet right in the eye. "That is all."

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><p>AN: **I've just thought of a canon conundrum. What would have happened if a child had not seen Rhonda drop her pencil, and that child passed the actual test? Would the child have gone on? What if a child had **_**refused **_**to help Rhonda, but still passed the test?**

Second A/N: **Bonus points to anyone who can tell me the exact makeup of Violet's "homemade flashlight and grabber"!**


	4. A Trans Story Rescue

Author's Note: **I'm sorry if you were distressed by the end of last chapter (and by 'sorry', I mean 'delighted'). I didn't think that Violet, despite her specialized brilliance, would have been able to pass the second test. But fear not—I never intended for Violet to be dropped. I needed some way for her to prove herself to Number Two, kind of in the same way Kate did when she helped Number Two escape the rabid parents in the book. Here is what I came up with...**

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><p>Disclaimer: <strong>Just like poor Beatrice, the ownership of both ASOUE and MBS is not mine.<strong>

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><p><span>Violet<span>

"That is all."

That is all.

After those words, every other sound seemed to be reaching my ears through a long tube. The sounds of the sniffling, crying children and the pencil-ish woman gathering herself to leave seemed so separate and removed, it was like they were a television program. Or, like _I _was a television program. I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe that it was all...over.

Rather numbly, I grimaced a smile at Klaus and exited the room with all the other failed test-takers. I didn't want to face him just yet. Rhonda Kazembe went with me. I didn't know why she hadn't passed, having supposedly used the answer sheet, nor did I much care at this point.

I pulled out Mr. Poe's phone, walking away from the crowd, trying to find solitude. The pencil-woman was wedging between a couple of outraged parents, presumably trying to escape before the rest of them bombarded her to demand explanations. Klaus was accompanying her.

"...The third phase isn't quite ready for you at present, Mr. Baudelaire," she was saying. "You can wait in the testing room until I get back to you—but right now I must be off before they block all the exits."

They had caught up to me now, approaching the front entrance. The pencil-woman swept past me.

"Wait!" Klaus called after her. "Miss... I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

The pencil-woman smiled. "That's quite all right, Klaus, you've nothing to be sorry for."

He waited for her to tell him her name, but when she said nothing, he said "Alright, well, the thing is... I'm afraid I just can't go on without my sister."

"Klaus..." I said.

"Violet, you know I can't do this." He turned back to the pencil-woman. "I'm sorry. I'm out of the running."

He began to turn away, but the pencil woman ran to cut him off. "I don't think you understand what you're throwing away here, Mr. Baudelaire," she said. "You are an exceptional child who has just passed two very difficult tests. You're about to experience things other children will never even think about!" She sounded strangely desperate. "You've worked very hard for this chance at special opportunities, haven't you?"

Klaus hesitated, and I thought I could see tears in his eyes.

"Yes," he said softly, "but my siblings and I are orphans. We're all we have."

The woman looked saddened, but she said, "If you're sure you want to drop out, I suppose..."

"I'll go get Sunny," Klaus said, not looking at either of us. "Then we can go back... we can go back to Mr. Poe."

I watched him leave in anguish. I wanted this for him, and he knew it, but we both knew he couldn't do it without me. He was right; we were all one another had. I wouldn't have done it in his shoes.

"So you are his sister?" said the pencil-woman.

"Yes," I said. "I'm Violet."

"Violet..." I might have imagined it, but I thought she shot a glance at the back of Rhonda Kazembe, who was walking out through the doors. "Well..." Something in her voice made me the slightest bit hopeful. I waited for her to finish her sentence. She bit her lip. "...that's a pretty name."

My shoulders sagged. "Thank you."

She gave me a small smile. "You're welcome. You have a very caring brother."

I returned the sad smile. "I know," I said.

"And talented."

"He is very gifted," I agreed.

We were silent for a moment, and then something solid hit me from behind. I stumbled forward, but someone caught my hand and stopped me from falling. I regained my stance and looked around to see the odd blonde girl—the one who carried the red metal bucket.

"Sorry," I said to her.

"No, no!" she said. "My fault. As useful as it is, my bucket does get in the way sometimes—especially when it's crowded."

I looked down at the red bucket. I could see a motley collection of tools and trinkets inside. "You carry that with you _everywhere_?"

"Yep." She patted it fondly. "I'm sure you must think it's really weird; everybody does. But I don't see why—how else am I supposed to tote my supplies?"

"It's an intriguing idea," I said, my inventor's mind already formulating a list of materials I could have with me at all times if I carried a bucket like that.

"Really?" She looked quite pleased.

"I agree," said the pencil-woman. "And don't you ever stop carrying it because people tell you it's 'weird.'"

"Don't worry," said the girl, smiling. "I'm not going to stop carrying a bucket with me any time soon." She turned to me and held out a hand. "We haven't properly met," she said. "I'm Kate Wetherall."

"I'm Violet," I said as we shook hands.

"So you passed the second test?" she asked me.

"Um, no..." I looked down.

"Oh... Oh well!" she said brightly. "Neither did I. Next time, right?"

I gave her a small smile. "Right."

"So do you have parents here, or—?"

"_Violet!_"

I looked up to see Klaus running down the hall towards us, looking panicked. He skidded to a halt in front of me, quite out of breath. The pencil-woman and the girl Kate looked at him curiously.

"What is it, Klaus?" I said in alarm.

"It's...Sunny," he panted. He looked at me gravely. "She's missing."

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><p><span>Kate<span>

"I'll look for her outside," said the boy.

"Okay," his sister replied. "I'll search in here."

"I'll help you," I said at once.

"Thank you," she said. "Come on!"

Old Yellow Suit followed us. "Where did you leave your sister when you took the test?" she asked.

"In the room with all the parents," said Violet breathlessly. She was already running in that direction.

It was difficult to get any information from the parents; those who weren't cooing over their sobbing children were storming at Old Yellow Suit, demanding to know why their child hadn't passed. Only one woman listened to our inquiries about Sunny.

"Oh, yes, I saw that little girl," she said, furiously eating a doughnut. "That bully broke my son Tommy's favorite toy."

"Did you see where she went?" asked Violet desperately.

"Nope. Didn't have any parents in this room, as far as I could tell. I was _going_ to take her and find her people, but she slipped away."

"Well, that was quick thinking on Sunny's part," Violet said as we ran out of the parent room, once Old Yellow Suit had managed to get away from the mad parents, "but where did she go?"

"Maybe she got into the elevator," I suggested. "She could be on an upper floor."

That thought worried her. "You're right," she said. "She could be...She could be anywhere in this building."

"Well, we're not going to find her by standing around," I said, trying to bolster her. "Let's go!"

Violet, Old Yellow Suit and I scoured the second and third floors and found nothing. By the time we reached the fourth floor, Violet was crying slightly. "We've got to find her," she said in desperation. "We've _got_ to."

"We _will_," I said firmly as we ran down a wide fourth-floor hallway. "We'll find her."

We rounded a corner, looking in every nook and cranny. "Are these doors left open often?" Violet asked Old Yellow Suit, looking hopelessly at the rows upon rows of doors: 4-A, 4-B, 4-C, and so on, the end of them not in our sight.

"No," she replied. "I know what you're worried about—you're thinking the baby might have gone through an open door and then pushed it closed behind her. But these doors are almost always closed; usually locked."

"Well, that at least narrows it down," I said.

We passed a row of windows, and I happened to glance out through one of them. I did a double-take and skidded to a halt in astonishment. I looked through the window, straight down the side of the building.

"Oh my God..." I breathed.

The baby was on a window ledge one story below.

"Help!" I cried. "Somebody come over here! Violet!"

Violet and Old Yellow Suit came running and I pointed to what I had seen. The baby turned her head up to us, looking frightened. Old Yellow Suit gasped.

"Sunny!" Violet yelled. "Hold on, we're coming to get you!"

She began to run towards the stairs, but Old Yellow Suit stayed stock-still. "This area has had high levels of acid rain this year..." she murmured.

"What?" said Violet. I didn't understand either—until I looked back down at the baby.

The concrete ledge was cracking.

There wasn't time to go downstairs. Violet was running back towards us, tying up her hair. "This is no time for changing your hairstyle!" I yelled. "We have to help her, _fast_!"

"I know!" she cried. "What's in there?" She was pointing at my bucket.

I rifled through it. "Um, a slingshot, some superglue, my Swiss army—"

"Oh, could you just dump it out please?"

I looked at her askance. "Dump it out?"

"_She's going to fall!_"

I turned my perfectly organized bucket upside-down; its contents spilled over the floor. Marbles rolled in every direction. Far below us, pieces of the window ledge were falling into the street. I heard Sunny whimper.

Violet inspected my pile of tools. "A rope!" she exclaimed. "Perfect!"

"There's also a horseshoe magnet stuck inside," I said, wrenching it from the metal bucket.

"Even better—how strong is it?"

"The strongest I've found," I replied.

"Give it here."

Working faster than I thought even I could have—I wasn't the greatest knot-tier—she attached the magnet to the top of the steel window frame, tied the rope to the handle of my empty bucket, and looped it through the horseshoe magnet, creating a makeshift pulley. Old Yellow Suit watched with a mix of fear and admiration.

"My hands are shaking," Violet said. Her voice was shaking too.

"Here, let me." I took the rope and steadied it, lowering the bucket down swiftly but smoothly.

"Get in the bucket, Sunny, get in the bucket!" cried Violet.

I knew the exact distance to lower it without having to look; I put it slightly below her so she wouldn't have to tilt it to get in. Fragments of the crumbling ledge were falling in, so I couldn't be exactly sure if all the weight entering the bucket meant that the girl had made it—and none of us dared to peer over the edge.

Silence fell, and I slowly, feverishly began to raise the bucket. We all held our breath. At a snail-like pace, the bucket rose and rose until it came to our level, and its contents were revealed.

"Gapuki!"

We exhaled; Violet laughed aloud in relief. She picked up the baby out of my bucket and dumped the concrete bits onto the ground, and then we both disassembled her pulley and began to replace the bucket's contents. None of us could stop smiling.

"We make a pretty good team," I said, shaking her hand.

"I suppose we do," she replied with Sunny grinning in her arms.

Old Yellow Suit laughed joyously and clapped her hands together. "What a display!" she cried. We looked at her, glowing with pride, and she seemed to compose herself, clasping her hands together and pursing her lips, clearing her throat. "Girls," she said a bit more calmly, "I do believe you two ought to join me for the third test."

At first, I wasn't sure I had heard her right. Violet and I looked at each other, and then we both grinned from ear to ear at exactly the same time.

"Really?" said Violet in disbelief.

"Of course." Old Yellow Suit smiled.

"_Yes!_" I jumped up and punched the air triumphantly. Violet and Old Yellow Suit laughed. I lifted my hand for Violet to high-five.

"Klaus will be so excited," she said happily. "Thank you so very much!"

"You're quite welcome," said Old Yellow Suit. "Now go fetch your brother and come straight back here. There's someone I want you to meet."

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><p>AN: **Anybody notice the chapter title's double meaning? Trans story as in between the stories of MBS and ASOUE, and trans story as in between the third & fourth stories of the Monk Building?**


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